The Hard Lesson
by rhombus
Summary: Remember when Kyle talked about Fish crying in his arms late at night? Yeah. This is one of those.


**The Hard Lesson**

Kyle woke to the feel of a finger not-so-gently running down the bridge of his nose and landing on his lips. He didn't need to blink his eyes open to know who was accosting him in the middle of the night. The finger began inching its way back up his cheek.

"Cut it out, Oliver. I'm awake."

"Lemme in." Oliver tugged on the edge of the sheets and rolled onto the mattress, practically crushing Kyle as he struggled to catch his balance.

Kyle grabbed his shoulders to steady him. "Come here, big guy. I gotcha." He planted a gentle kiss on Oliver's lips, and the sweet and bitter fumes of alcohol overwhelmed him. "You're _really_ drunk." He felt something wet on Oliver's cheeks. "And crying. What's wrong?"

"Mm, no talking. Don't wanna talk. Just wanna forget about everything."

"Okay, okay. No talking. I promise."

"Just wanna sleep." Oliver nuzzled his face against Kyle's shoulder and took in a deep, wet breath before turning his head slightly and kissing the exposed skin on Kyle's neck.

"Just sleep, huh?"

"Mm-hmm. You smell nice."

Kyle laughed. "Uh, thanks?" He caressed the top of Oliver's head, his fingertips reveling in the feel of soft hair and warm skin. "Go to sleep, Oliver."

Cradling Oliver's body so close to his own, Kyle felt warm, and wanted. But not safe. No, he couldn't feel safe. Not until he was sure that his feelings were as distant as their bodies were close. It was becoming difficult, more difficult than he expected. He knew he should be better at this by now, avoiding this trap. It had been a hard lesson, growing up, finding that no matter how badly you wanted something, how hard you strove to keep it, some things were temporary. Borrowed. Fleeting. Things like love. Things like home. So he simply stopped striving, keeping his distance instead.

The distance kept him safe—kept him happy.

Something stirred within him, as if in protest. He ignored it. A few minutes of silence passed and his eyelids began to droop as he drifted off to sleep again....

"Kyle." The finger was back on his nose.

"Hmm?"

"Kyle?" He felt Oliver's large hand grasp his shoulder and run down his arm.

"I thought we weren't talking."

"I don't want 'em to hate me."

Kyle snapped his eyes open. "Hate? Who hates you?"

"Earlier. Before drinking, when I talked to home. My dad... I was on the phone... and everything's fine and nice like usual and then I hear him." Oliver took a deep, rattling breath. "He's mad and yelling because some—some—some fag lawyer screwed up his case."

Kyle shook his head. "Your dad's a real class act, you know that?"

"No, Kyle. You don't know. The _hate_ in his voice... Kyle, I can't—I don't know what I'd do. If he hated _me_ like that… If they knew I was—I was here with you. Like this. My parents... they'd never see me again. Never even _look_ at me...."

"Hey. _Shh_. Maybe—maybe he would just need a little time... to—to get used to the idea." He didn't sound convincing to his own ears. It was probably time for Oliver to learn the hard lesson himself.

"No." Oliver swung his head sharply from side to side. "No. You don't know what it's like. You _couldn't_."

Kyle stiffened. He spoke slowly. "You're right. I have no idea what it's like to tell your parents that you're gay."

"Not gay."

"Yes. _Gay_."

"You should be glad you don't have parents anymore."

"Jesus, Oliver. Real nice." Kyle shifted his weight to roll over. Keeping his distance didn't seem so difficult anymore. Before he could turn away, though, Oliver wrapped an arm around his lower back and planted his wet face under Kyle's chin, pinning them together.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Don't let go. _Please_."

"Fine."

"Do you love me?"

Kyle froze. The sound of his own heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears. Oliver was all over the place tonight. Where did _that_ come from?

"Kyle, please." It was little more than a whimper, but it was enough to crack something open inside of Kyle. He breathed hard and fast, trying to keep things inside, keep them from careening out, but it was useless. His lips were traitorous bastards.

"Yes, okay? _Shh_." Well, he was in it now. May as well be in it all the way. "_Yes_. I love you." He sighed and kissed the top of Oliver's head. "More than you know," he whispered.

Oliver pulled Kyle closer, nestling his face more firmly against Kyle's neck.

Kyle grimaced, internally cursing his stupid, weak heart. It was out there now, the love, with no reciprocation, fending for itself, dangling by a tender thread of unfulfilled hope, but it couldn't be snapped back now, not to the safety of Kyle's denials, that cautious, secret place in his heart where he'd been storing Oliver's image since... since he didn't know when. He could no longer separate _knowing_ Oliver from loving him.

Hungry fingers began to pull at the hem of his shirt. Oliver raised his wet face and seeded desperate kisses along the line of Kyle's jaw. Before he knew it, his shirt was flung over his head and gliding to the floor.

"Need you _now_." Oliver's voice, low and gravelly, distracted Kyle's thoughts; he let his mind go blissfully blank and allowed the sensations of Oliver's hands and lips and legs against his skin crash over him in warm, white waves.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said quickly as he pulled supplies out of the bedside chest.

Oliver positioned himself behind Kyle and their intertwined hands rested against his stomach. Oliver's breath was hot against Kyle's ear, coming out in short bursts—bursts with purpose, he realized. He tried to sweep the fog of pleasure from his mind so he could concentrate.

Words, repeated without end, punctuating each movement of their bodies.

"Love you, love you, love you...."

Kyle inhaled sharply; it suddenly felt as if his lungs were filled with helium and he could float right off the bed. It didn't matter to him that Oliver was drunk—that Oliver wouldn't remember come morning. He knew it _should_ matter, that everything he'd ever learned told him it should matter, but he didn't care. Not tonight. That bead of hope, alone on its string, unfurled under the warmth of those words, like a bud wakened by the morning sun.


End file.
